


Dearest, Darling, Yours

by under_a_linden_tree



Series: under_a_linden_tree's prompt ficlets [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Soft Mornings, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), a tiny bit of concern, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25924723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_linden_tree/pseuds/under_a_linden_tree
Summary: Even when they're already living together in their cottage, affection doesn't always come easily for the two of them.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: under_a_linden_tree's prompt ficlets [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755112
Comments: 20
Kudos: 115





	Dearest, Darling, Yours

The morning comes slowly, as it always does in this cottage, nestled between soft hills in the South Downs. The first rays of sunshine paint gentle patterns across the cream-coloured walls of a bedroom, at the centre of which a large four poster bed stands, covered by a warm blanket and a plethora of pillows. An odd pair, a retired angel and demon, rest atop of it, still half caught up in the blissful hands of sleep. 

The demon, dishevelled by a night of tossing and turning, wraps his lanky legs around the angel’s. His red hair is ruffled, sticking up in several places, and his sleep shirt has tangled somewhere around his ribs but he finds he doesn’t care much about that. The strip of exposed skin doesn’t feel cold, pressed up as it is against the angel’s soft, warm back. It feels nice, even if he would never say that out loud.

He can feel the gentle expanse of Aziraphale’s belly underneath his palms as he wraps himself around him even closer, holding on tight for as long as he can. It’s Sunday morning, they don’t have anywhere to be, and isn’t that a thing? Lazy days, spent together, here in the mess of pillows and blankets that is the angel’s bed.

Gently, he buries his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and places a kiss there, feeling the unnecessary but steady beat of the angel’s heart beneath his lips. He can smell the faint notes of Aziraphale’s almost faded cologne, a scent that had started to remind him of home long ago. From the corner of his eye, he can see how Aziraphale’s lips turn up, letting a blissful expression settle over his face.

One by one, Crowley kisses his way up the angel’s neck, pressing sleep-soft smiles into his skin until he reaches the edge of his jaw. He lingers there for a moment, enjoying the proximity of their faces, cheek to cheek, then he withdraws and rests his chin on top of Aziraphale’s head, soft hair tickling the sensitive skin of his neck. He places a kiss there too, amidst the tangle of blond curls.

“Good morning, my dearest,” Aziraphale says.

His voice is still rough, a tone that will fade before long but that has become dear as anything to Crowley. It’s only present in those stolen golden hours of the morning, when neither of them wants to let go of their tangled limbs and blankets, a thing that is so intimately their and theirs alone, and that warms Crowley’s heart.

“What do you think?” Aziraphale asks. “Should we stay here a little longer?”

Crowley hums in agreement. Aziraphale seems happy enough to hear that, running soft fingertips over Crowley’s arm until he finds his left hand. He feels every brush of skin upon skin as Aziraphale entangles their fingers, holds them close to his heart. They’re warm. Of course they are, the cold’s been kept away by the blue covers they’d chosen together a few months ago. There’s but one inch that’s cold against Crowley’s skin, where a thin band of gold gingerly rests, close to his own.

He runs his nose down the line of Aziraphale’s neck, revelling in the contented sigh this draws out of the angel, a sound so entirely free of worry or restraint that he can barely believe how lucky he is to be the reason for it.

“My angel,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss into his shoulder.

Aziraphale smiles at that, leaning back against Crowley even more and it’s soft and it’s good and it’s nice, things he is slowly growing accustomed to wanting more and more each day.

“My darling Crowley,” Aziraphale says, basking in the warmth of their bed and their embrace like a cat that’s found its favourite spot in the sun.

It still takes him effort and courage to say certain things, even these days when they’re living here together, in a cottage of their own where no-one can come to harm them, where they’ve built a safe haven for the two of them, but some words are less hard than others, even if they’re no less true.

“Always yours,” he says, and he means it.

He can hear Aziraphale draw a sharp breath, feels the sudden tension in the muscles beneath his hands. For a moment, he fears that he’s done something wrong again, that this hitch in the angel’s breath is a sign of a pain he’s inflicted.

“Are you alright, angel?” Crowley asks carefully, squeezing the fingers entwined with his own.

Aziraphale reaches up quickly with his other hand and wipes at his cheek, lets go of another shaky breath. He becomes less tense, consciously relaxing his shoulders before he answers in a voice that is only slightly unsteady.

“More than.”

_Why are getting all teary-eyed, then?_ he wants to ask, but the doesn’t. Instead, he reaches for a reassurance. “I didn’t upset you?”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale says and Crowley knows it’s sincere.

Aziraphale disentangles himself from Crowley’s hold and turns around, shifting the blankets around his body so he can face his darling. His eyes are indeed a bit watery but he smiles, a brightness that claims his entire being. Tenderly, he reaches for Crowley again, rests a soft palm on his cheek.

“I simply have to get used to knowing that I have you. It’s a bit overwhelming, when you put it into words.”

And it is, Crowley understands that sentiment too well. He can still remember the first time Aziraphale told Crowley that he mattered to him more than anything, and he keeps that memory locked inside his chest, as a keepsake for times when he’s alone and doubting.

“I know,” he whispers, pulling Aziraphale close.

He kisses the top of Aziraphale’s head, a gentle gesture that has helped the angel regain his calm a hundred times before, firmly ground him once more. It works its magic this time around, too. The final remnants of overwhelmed tension disappear, and there’s nothing left but the soft hold of his arms around Crowley’s waist, warm hands splayed across the exposed skin of Crowley’s back. They’re a steady reminder of the closeness they share, on lazy mornings, in front of the telly or when Crowley is standing in their dainty kitchen, growling at the coffee machine for acting up and being too slow, as it always is and always has been.

“I’m glad that I have you,” Aziraphale says and softly rubs his nose against Crowley’s.

They both know that there are words hidden in that gesture, words along the lines of _I love you so very much_ , but they don’t have to be said aloud to be understood. They’re always there, whenever they hold each other, whenever they’re apart. It’s become a part of them, inseparable from their new lives.

And when Aziraphale kisses Crowley, they’re spoken without words, and it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by fenrislorsrai. The story and parts of the dialogue were inspired by bananaquit and GreenBean42.


End file.
